


The Message and the Mother

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [22]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), COVID, Coronavirus, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Bureaucracy, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, but just mentioned - Freeform, ineffable descendants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: Nearly a year after their adventure in Japan, Crowley and Aziraphale are locked down against the killer virus. All is calm...until it's not.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Beelzebub (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	The Message and the Mother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OverlordGoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverlordGoddess/gifts).



> CW: pretty fluffy all around, a bit of non graphic sexy stuff
> 
> Let me know if I missed anything!

Aziraphale’s flat, March 18, 2020, 7:45 PM

* * *

It had been nearly a year since Aziraphale shook Crowley’s foot and woke him from a dead sleep in a very nice hotel that had once been a temple to Beelzebub.

They retreated, hastily, to Aziraphale’s second choice for the cherry blossom festival, and had a lovely trip. It was not _as_ picturesque and not _as_ intimate as Hirosaki Park, but they still had fun.

The hasty retreat did not dim Crowley's memory of the night before. The angel made it official. Made THEM official. Crowley liked looking down at his hand and seeing the gold band resting there. It made him feel warm inside.

Strange how a relatively modern tradition, the gift of jewelry, would calm Crowley’s mind and spirit. How much he didn’t just want it, but _needed_ it.

He no longer felt like a sentient vocalized pause. He no longer felt like a coiled spring whenever his angel reached for him. Crowley relaxed. Not just from his confession of the horrors of Eden, the rest of which (including his parting bite to Adam’s heel and Adam’s subsequent stomping of Crowley) he’d told Aziraphale eventually.

Some baggage is too big to be unpacked all at once.

It was about two months later, at one of Crowley’s favorite places, that he’d finally taken the next step. He’d planned this trip. They’d planned to see the Chinese Opera and were eating at one of Crowley’s favorite places beforehand. There had been a restaurant here since the time of Christ. It was a deep Clearwater lake with a huge waterfall, verdant with bamboo and lovely all around.

The restaurant itself was mostly deck, and that’s where they sat. In a corner, eating very good fish and watching the humans as they hauled up more to be cooked.

Crowley had finished eating, and Aziraphale nearly had. The sun was setting, casting golden light on everything. He looked down at his hand, the blasphemous word engraved into the gold of his ring catching the sunset, and smiled.

Aziraphale finished his last few bites, and looked replete. Crowley loved seeing him like that. Warm and comfortable, full and happy. This time away from the drama (and frankly, the trauma) of Heaven and Hell had been good for them.

“I have something for you,” Crowley said, suddenly shy.

He shoved the little black box across the wood table, nudging it with his finger as he would have with his nose, had he been a snake. All hesitant, all nervous.

Aziraphale opened the box and paused, mouth open.

“It’s...perfect...”

Crowley drew the ring from the box and slipped it onto Aziraphale. Sizing the damned thing had been tricky, but once Aziraphale was introduced to sleep, he slept nearly as hard as Crowley did. He’d been able to slip the ring sizers onto Aziraphale until he got it right.

The thick band had been engraved with an ouroborous. Crowley’s mark on Aziraphale. Crowley laced the fingers of their left hands together, allowing the rings to touch.

“Couldn’t have worn white, anyways, y’know?” Crowley had said, lamely.

“You could have worn any color you liked,” Aziraphale replied, kissing him with a mouth that still tasted of grilled fish and fruits. “That’s a terribly modern tradition--white for virgins. You could have worn white.”

Crowley flushed. He squirmed in his chair, unable to put his joy--his sheer relief that Aziraphale did not see him as damaged as he saw himself--unable to put any of it in words.

“I like black better,” he said weakly.

“You would have made a ravishing bride in black,” Aziraphale replied.

“Thought you preferred me out of my clothes,” Crowley said.

And they never did make it out to see the Chinese Opera.

Crowley loved their rings, and their vacations, and their time with Warlock. As predicted, young Warlock was a rockstar at Eton. He managed to charm and con his way past the teachers, and his devil-may-care attitude made him popular with the other boys.

They’d gone to Disneyland that summer. Nanny and Zira and Warlock. Warlock saw the rings and commented on them. Nanny said they just did the paperwork, and didn’t make a fuss about it. She also extended regards from Brother Francis, who was enjoying his retirement.

They’d returned Warlock in time for Fall Term. He spent a few days with them during the Winter Holidays, going shopping for Christmas presents in Paris and Berlin. Warlock had a rather long list of friends and family, and his mother was generous with him (all in the name of making connections), so they had a grand time of it. As it turns out, Zira was quite skilled (miraculously so) at giftwrapping, so they were able to deliver Warlock and a pile of parcels to his family two days before Christmas.

Crowley and Aziraphale had a quiet Christmas in. Anathema had taken Newt to meet her family, and Crowley felt pretty strongly that she was going to come back with a ring on. Good for them. More love in the world was always a good thing.

Aziraphale baked and they both ate. At the end of it, they’d exchanged gifts. Crowley received a beautiful black woolen longcoat, just the thing against the cold of English winters. He’d also received a bottle of Chartreuse and a fine red from a winery that was long defunct, but that he had appreciated when it was in operation. (Aziraphale said that he'd found it on "the e-Bay", which caused Crowley to laugh so hard that he nearly snorted eggnog.) Aziraphale received a bundle of old books that Crowley had curated from the little shops that they’d visited over the past year. Several rares and uniques, and a signed first edition of The Tenth Muse by Anne Bradstreet.

The big gift though, the one that made the angel cry, was a dove grey leatherbound volume. One white wing and one black wing were stitched into the cover over the title, “2019.” Crowley filled the pages with pictures of the two of them, sometimes with Warlock and sometimes alone. Pasted up ticket stubs and travel brochures. Their fortune cookie fortunes from Chinese New Year’s. Confetti from their New Year’s Eve in Florida. Pressed cherry blossoms, and a feather from one of the powwows that they had attended.

Aziraphale held the book to his chest and wept.

“First of a million, angel,” Crowley had said, and opened his arms.

Aziraphale dropped the book on the low table, near their empty eggnog glasses and shreds of wrapping paper, and threw himself into Crowley. Crowley held him until the wracking sobs stopped, and Aziraphale was ready to go to bed.

Their lovemaking was slow, that night. Careful. Beautiful. Aziraphale wanted Crowley inside him, and Crowley was happy to oblige. The angel spread his wings when he settled over Crowley, as their thighs met and Crowley felt himself click into place.

That night, Aziraphale wept as he came. That night, Crowley realized that one year and a smattering of months was not enough. A million years might not be. His angel had a need that was wild and desperate, and Crowley didn’t think an eternity together would fill it. And those million years might only scratch the surface of Crowley's own longing.

Crowley stayed awake to watch Aziraphale drowse and then slip into sleep. Crowley was happy. A joy as effervescent as champagne, as warm as Christmas candles--the joy of his new life swelled Crowley's heart and softened his limbs. He fell asleep holding his angel.

They braved Trafalgar Square for New Year’s, mostly because Aziraphale had never been. He and Crowley were both surprised by how much Aziraphale enjoyed it. There had been singing, and Crowley and Aziraphale both had beautiful voices for it. Aziraphale was flushed and smiling as they returned to the bookshop, and Crowley was profoundly grateful for his new coat. Both of them were happy to enjoy the fine red. And each other, of course.

2020 looked like it was going to be the perfect year.

Crowley had been wrong in the past.

A few days after ringing in the new year, Anathema and Newt returned. They were both wearing rings. Apparently, they both had the same idea at the same time, and so they proposed to each other on Anathema’s family’s roof, watching the fireworks explode as the year turned.

There were congratulations in the bookshop, and some very nice champagne. Aziraphale promised to help with immigration--both of the kids wanted dual citizenship.

They went to bed beaming that night.

Nanny and Zira had returned Warlock to school in mid January, and life went on. They spent Carnivale in France, again. They planned to take in Sydney when Australia became mild enough to visit, but unfortunately, Australia caught fire. They ended up in a particularly lovely part of South America, touring the long abandoned temples that nature was reclaiming. Temples of a snake cult that Crowley had established ages ago. It was a lovely trip.

They were planning for a short trip to Eurodisney during Warlock’s spring holiday.

The end of the world started with a news story about a strange sickness in China.

And now?

Crowley seriously wondered if God was specifically testing him. Bringing a plague to ravage the world as soon as he was finally free.

He hated the fourteenth century. Crowley doubted that he’d like this rerun version any better.

With the current crisis, it would likely be ages before he saw Warlock again. Aziraphale had helped him work the miracles necessary to keep their boy safe. Two days ago, Warlock had been delivered by US Secret Service agents to his grandmother’s California estate. He was sent with the special masks (that Nanny had obtained from her time in the military). And, likewise, the gallon bottle of special hand sanitizer.

Miraculously special.

So far, Crowley had received seven texts from Warlock. The first was a note to say that he’d landed and was safe at his grandmother’s home. The second was a picture of him up in a tree (wearing his mask), helping the army of cousins who had descended upon his grandmother’s home. They were pruning her orchard, and moving some trees around. (Nanny made a few suggestions, which were well-received.) The third was a picture of a plant that Warlock didn’t recognize (it was poison sumac.) Then the photo of the rash, which Crowley agonized over and Aziraphale told him would be itchy, but harmless. Aziraphale added that the “hand sanitizer” would clear it up, which Nanny texted back. Warlock’s next text said that his rash cleared up “like magic” and asked about “that awesome occult library site” that he hadn’t bookmarked and had forgotten the name of. Nanny sent him the link, (<http://hermetics.org/library/Library_Occult.html>). The next text was about a virtual tour of the Mutter Museum that he and his cousins did, and the last was that he missed Nanny and Zira and hoped they had a nice day.

As for Crowley and Aziraphale, they followed the government guidelines. Crowley didn’t know how this disease would affect his corporation, and the one person who might know was lost to him. Likely canoodling with an Archangel.

And good for them. He wished them well.

But, since neither of them knew what to expect from this disease, Aziraphale and Crowley had followed the advice that was given to the humans.

They miracled a bunch of food and essentials, and prepared to wait out the virus. Besides Crowley’s unfortunate habit of doomscrolling, things had been peaceful.

Anathema and Newt, both pretty efficient as doomsday preppers, were using the closure as a time to reorganize and deep-clean the bookshop.

Aziraphale and Crowley slept and drank and watched the heap of movies that one or the other or both of them had not gotten around to, for whatever reason. They kept a regular-ish schedule, on Aziraphale’s insistence.

And so, they were just past supper, and Crowley was rummaging through the icebox. He knew it was...in there somewhere. He hadn’t eaten it, he was certain of it. He pushed past the milk and the eggs. Moved the small wheel of brie that Aziraphale still had from Carnivale in Paris.

A mind focused on the mundane task of finding a missing custard was a mind adrift. A mind that could easily be infiltrated by realization. Cracked open, and spilt out.

Crowley stopped jostling bottles and clamshells and boxes and stood up, out of the refrigerator.

“It was a snake joke!”

Aziraphale, at the kitchen table, cocked his head to one side. “A snake joke? What was?”

“‘Get a wiggle on!’” Crowley continued. “When you were discorporated in that pub, right before we went to Tadfield. It was a bloody _snake joke_.”

Aziraphale blinked. Twice. “I suppose it could be taken that way, but I didn’t intend it that way.” He sipped his tea.

“Oh, I call _bullshit_ on that, angel. You know what you said--” he paused. “Is that my custard?”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale said, brightly. “I pulled it out for you, and the eggnog, too.”

Crowley closed the refrigerator, maybe a bit harder than was strictly necessary. He stalked to the table and picked up the custard cup, peeled off the foil, and stabbed at it with the spoon that Aziraphale had thoughtfully provided.

“A _snake joke_ ,” he muttered.

“Was it a funny one?”

“Yeah...actually...yeah...”

“I sincerely wish that I had meant it as a joke, in that case.”

“You could have let me believe that you meant it as a joke.”

“And _lie_ to you? I think not, my darling,” Aziraphale chuckled, holding a forkful of very fine cheesecake at Crowley. “I’m an angel, after all.”

Crowley smirked at him, and took the bite of cheesecake that he offered. “Barely.”

“What was that?”

“Barely. An. Angel.”

Aziraphale set his cutlery down, and the clink of it was very loud in the small kitchen. He smiled, and it was the smile of a challenged predator.

“All that effort to find a custard, and you’re not even hungry, are you?” he asked, assessing Crowley with blue eyes that sparked with interest.

“I am. Finished the custard,” Crowley said, setting down the cup that he’d emptied in three spoonfuls.

But Aziraphale was already up and reaching. And Crowley was deciding how much of a struggle he was going to put up. He was feeling playful. He might just make the angel work for it tonight.

Aziraphale had Crowley up against the wall, held in place by his collar. His mouth was open and Aziraphale was inside, his free hand wandering to Crowley’s trousers.

It looked like, in spite of the news and the virus, that Crowley was going to have a lovely evening.

And then, it began to shriek.

“BOSS! BOSS! BOSS!” the fat little black bathbomb was running down the hall as fast as its stubby little legs could carry it. “MESSAGE FOR YOU! BOSS!”

Somehow, Crowley’s imp had managed to drag itself out of the box that Crowley left it in, out of the drawer (that he had left the box in), out of the realm that looked like a very posh flat (that contained the desk that he had left the box in) and was running straight to Crowley.

“BOSS! VERY URGENT MESSAGE FROM BEELZEBUB, LORD OF THE FLIES, INTERIM KING OF HELL!”

Crowley’s beautiful evening went down like a lead balloon.

“Is that your imp?” Aziraphale asked, letting Crowley go.

“Uh, yeah, angel.”

“Thought you got rid of it...”

“I did. It came back. It kept coming back. I put it in a box.”

“URGENT MESSAGE FROM--”

“Yeah, I get it. What’s the message?” Crowley asked, and then, aside, to Aziraphale. “Probably Hell’s statement about the virus. Probably starts with ‘In these unprecedented times...’”

“Message is as follows: Crowley, do not let that angel go to Heaven. Stay in your realm until further notice. I do not make it a habit to ask favors, but this time I am making an exception. Protect Aziraphale. Further explanation will follow.”

“That,” Crowley said, “was unprecedented.”

“Reply, Boss?” the imp asked.

“Yeah, I’d like some more details before we just--”

“We’ll go,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could see the terror in his face. “Tell them that we’ll go.”

“What?”

“They warned me before, and I should have told you--”

“They WHAT?”

“Prince Beelzebub saw me watching them from the window at their temple.” Aziraphale paused. “They...distracted...Gabriel long enough for us to get away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“They did not want me to.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m telling you _now_. There’s more...”

“Tell me,” Crowley said.

His whole body felt weak, nerveless. Something was moving. The whole world was moving in ways he didn’t understand.

His angel was in danger? And Prince Beelzebub wanted him protected. It made zero sense.

“In Japan, I thought that if Prince Beelzebub decided to spare me, it was for your sake...but now...I’m not so certain...”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t spoken much about my time with Raphael, but he kept saying that I have my Mother’s eyes,” Aziraphale looked down. “He must have been the closest to God, to have seen Her eyes. No other angel has ever...”

“Aziraphale...” Crowley felt his blood turn to glacier water.

“Crowley...what I’m saying is...what if we were spared because I am somehow special to God? What if that’s why we were chosen to be part of the Ineffable? Because I was so special that She gave me Her eyes.”

The angel looked down. The suggestion was blasphemous. The truth was worse.

“Angel,” Crowley said, tipping Aziraphale’s face up so that he could look into his eyes. His beloved and beautiful and _familiar_ eyes. “There is only one entity on this rock that has eyes the same as yours.”

“There is?”

Crowley nodded. “Imp, reply. Lord Beelzebub, We’re sheltering in my realm, as requested. The angel will remain safe from whatever bullshit that Heaven is up to. Explanations, please? Signed, Crowley, demon-at-large.”

“Got it, Boss.”

“Turn back into a phone.”

“Yeah, Boss.”

Crowley picked up the sleek, black rectangle that his imp turned into, and pocketed it.

“The one entity on this planet that has your eyes is Beelzebub,” Crowley said, cupping Aziraphale’s cheek in his hand. “Let’s get to my realm.”

“My mother...Prince Beelzebub is... _my mother_? How?”

“Dunno, angel,” Crowley said. “But if the bloody king of Hell actually wants you safe, I’m not going to argue. Let’s go.”

And, after a few miracles to clean up from their after dinner snacks, they did.

**Author's Note:**

> For OverlordGoddess, who just gave me kudos on every chapter! Thanks for reading!
> 
> I hope you all liked the "snake joke" gag. It's my GF's joke, and she is a genius.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> [Ring SIzers](https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Ftse1.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DOIP.Kb13O9RjgUBSQBxWaj90JAHaFZ%26pid%3DApi&f=1)
> 
> [Ouroboros, a symbol of eternity](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/far-verona/images/d/de/Ouroboros-snake-eating-its-own-tail-eternity-or-vector-12076546.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20180929125820)
> 
> [The Tenth Muse, Lately Sprung Up in America](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tenth_Muse_Lately_Sprung_Up_in_America) by [Anne Bradstreet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Bradstreet)
> 
> Anne Bradstreet wrote poems about God and nature, and I think Aziraphale would appreciate her work.
> 
> [Poison Sumac](https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=http%3A%2F%2Fcdn0.wideopenspaces.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2014%2F04%2Fpoison-sumac.jpg&f=1&nofb=1) and [pics of a mild rash](https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-bxXFzqADYMY%2FWhunorzCfjI%2FAAAAAAAAB6s%2FZXsSZKRasqQnEaNLF1JagNHY_wqqPhitACLcBGAs%2Fs1600%2FPoison%252Bsumac%252Brashes%252Band%252Btheir%252Bdevelopment%252Bas%252Btime%252Bpasses%252Bby%252Bpoision%252Bsumac%252Brash%252Bimages.jpg&f=1&nofb=1)
> 
> [Hermetics.org, the largest occult library on the internet](http://hermetics.org/library/Library_Occult.html)
> 
> My stats tell me that I just crossed 250k words. I've been writing on AO3 since November, almost all for Good Omens, and mostly Ineffable Bureaucracy! What a ride! Thanks for coming along with me.
> 
> Comments and kudos made the above possible. No joke.


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